


A Little Bit Closer to Heaven

by LadyMerlin



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Banter, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, Explicit Sex, F/F, F/M, Footnotes, Genderfluid Characters, Genderfluid Occult Human-Shaped Beings are CANON, M/M, Multiple References to Canon, Oral Sex, PWP, Quasi-Religious Ponderings, Sex-positivity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 00:23:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2328506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was because gravity did not agree with their kind. On Earth, they became brooding, gravid creatures; swollen with their weight of their purpose and cut off from the constant tingling pleasure of flight, of warm companionship and amicable bickering. Or in Crowley’s case, violent politics and back-stabbing, which was more-or-less the same thing. Sushi and dark chocolate and fascinating little restaurants where they knew your name were lovely, but small comfort in the face of that loss. </p><p>Orgasms, in comparison, felt like flying, and they've <i>always</i> had a bad relationship with forbidden things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Bit Closer to Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> *Deep Sighs* this was supposed to be at most a thousand words of gender-swap porn. And then this happened. I just hope it makes your weekend better.
> 
> Inspired by this tumblr post [here](http://coveredinsnow-.tumblr.com/post/96473992945/please-consider-rihanna-as-crowley-and-lupita-as), where Rihanna and Lupita Nyongo were fancast as Crowley and Aziraphale respectively.

The thing is; sex isn’t bad.

Well, that’s not exactly it, because sex _can_ be bad just the way sex can be _amazingly_ good, but it’s not inherently bad. Not the way so many people, so many prudish _humans_ on Earth seem to think it is. Aziraphale’s not entirely sure where or how the idea came from but he has a sinking feeling it has something to do with organised religion. He’s smart enough to not admit it out loud, because Crowley had been saying it for years, and even though pride is a sin, Aziraphale is proud enough to not want to admit to being wrong.

Crowley, who was sitting on the desk beside him, fondling her breasts. She’d cupped them in her palms and she looked slightly dissatisfied. Because Aziraphale knew Crowley, whichever form she was in, he was not in the least surprised when they swelled up slightly, smooth and perfectly round, until they were too large for her hands. She nodded, almost to herself, clearly pleased with a job well done.

Aziraphale avoided the temptation to turn towards Crowley, to put his hand on her waist and kiss the soft skin just underneath her breasts, to tongue the crease formed because of the weight of them, dark and slightly damp, enchanting.

People, he thought, in all their unwashed eloquence had always thought pleasure was forbidden, because surely everything fun and good must be bad for you. He wasn’t quite sure why they thought that, because no one upstairs had ever said that ice-cream was a tool of the devil, and he had terrible, _horrible_ memories of that stretch of history during which everyone had thought communal baths and swimming pools were evil and unholy.(1) It was simplistic, childish thinking, and it had never led to any good. And it was just plain wrong, to boot.

Still, neither he nor Crowley had been able to conceive what they could possibly have done about it. It was a failure that neither one wanted responsibility for; the notion that religion and faith and holiness were little more than the fear of punishment in the after-life.

When Aziraphale had first heard the so-called enlightened thinkers calling for abstinence of the body to sharpen the mind, it had boggled his mind. He’d spoken to some of the humans speaking with self-given authority, who’d insisted that sex and romance did nothing but cloud the brain. It had been incomprehensible. All divine beings knew better, and they always had.(2) It potentially had to do with their origins, and their innate shared knowledge, or it was because gravity did not agree with their kind. In heaven, they were beautiful. They knew they were beautiful, no matter what they looked like. Because they shone, radiant with love, and strength, and they never even touched the ground because they never had need to, light, floating and free; almost mind-numbingly stereotypical.

But on Earth they became brooding, gravid creatures, swollen with the weight of their purpose and cut off from the constant tingling pleasure of flight, of warm companionship and amicable bickering. Or in Crowley’s case, violent politics and back-stabbing, which was more-or-less the same thing. Humans, for all their wonders, couldn’t quite compare to other divine beings, and the fact that somehow their wings didn’t work as well as they were supposed to, on Earth, was only the biggest let down in the history of all time. Sushi and wine and dark chocolate (when Aziraphale had finally conceded to trying them) were small comfort.

He watched Crowley fondly, as she dragged her thumbs across her dark nipples slowly, again and again, shivering as they hardened. That was why Angels and their kin, the Fallen, the Demons, other assorted creatures who happened to be Earth-bound for the time, were much less prudish than expected. Because some decent trial-and-error over the course of several hundred years of human history had given weight to the idea that sex, _good_ sex, was the closest they could get to heaven, away from heaven. Because they’d very quickly discovered that orgasm was the closest they could get to a physical manifestation of Nirvana. With their eyes shut and their fists clenched and their nails cutting crescents into their palms; with pleasure striking lightning bolts through their corporeal bodies, it felt almost exactly like soaring through the skies on their own wings.

Aziraphale, for his own part, enjoyed sex very much, and he didn’t particularly care what people thought about it. Not that many people thought very much about his sex life at all, thank you very much. He wasn’t prudish or anything, but he didn’t see how it was anyone’s business how he liked to have sex, if he wasn’t having sex with them. On the whole though, he was a big fan of orgasms and Nirvana and the whole shebang. And despite the fact that he avoided sexual congress with human beings as much as possible,(3) this was hardly his first rodeo. He’d been around for a long time, and he’d done pretty much everything there was to do, and done it again if he’d liked it. He knew Crowley was much the same, because neither of them had been designed to have a sense of shame in the Beginning. Everyone had been supposed to be that way, but signals had gotten a little crossed in the Garden and things had turned out rather differently than intended.(4)

But whatever the case, ever so often Crowley got the urge to practice his female form, or Aziraphale got the urge to refresh his Grace, or they both looked at each other over dinner at The Ritz and felt the same aching hunger for _Home_ , and they ended up here, at his bookshop or at Crowley’s flat, with anticipation thrumming golden beneath their skin, and the memory of something beautiful on their lips and tongues.

But tonight, he had taxes to file, and they had to be filed by the morning. Even though Crowley looked lovely, as she always did, and she smelled even better than she looked. And the forms waited in front of him, patiently, mockingly, and he sighed deeply. Crowley always got her way, whether Aziraphale had things to do or not. Few things were better than a touch of heaven. Very few things were better than the taste of Crowley on his tongue, regardless of whether she was a he or a she at the time. That didn’t mean he had to make it easy for her.

“Dearest, I have to finish this by tomorrow.” He did _not_ look up to see her rolling her eyes, but he knew she’d done it anyway. He paused to take a sip of his tea and made a little face when he discovered it had been miracled into a slightly vinegary chardonnay. Disappointing. He ignored Crowley’s little wriggle of delight.

“But Angel, surely taxes aren’t as interesting as all of this,” she said, gesturing at her own body like it was a hot meal in front of a starving man. Aziraphale eyed her, appreciatively, but didn’t put down his pen.

“As lovely as you are Crowley, the taxes have to be done.” He knew he’d misstepped the moment he said it.

Crowley crowed a little, because even though she was 6000 years’ old, give or take a couple of centuries, she had the sense of humour of a fifteen year old human child. “But Angel, I have to be _done_ too!”(5) She leaned backwards until she was sprawled on his desk, uncaring of his files and the stationary strewn under her back. She arched a little, making her breasts tremble, heavy against her body, and attention-grabbing. He wanted them in his hands more than anything else he could think of, at the moment. He wanted to feel her pleasure heavy in the air, scoring his vision with pale gold lines. He wanted to breathe it in. “If you don’t do me, then maybe I’ll have to do myself?” she asked rhetorically, doing a terrible impression of coyness. They both knew Aziraphale would never let it get to that stage. She slipped her fingers beneath the line of her skirt and sighed when Aziraphale didn’t respond. She arched a little more and fluttered her eyelashes, and Aziraphale just took another sip from his mug, where the vinegary chardonnay had been miracled into a much nicer (if a little surprised) Spanish Rioja.

“I can pretend to be your taxes, Angel, and you can do me all night long if you like. You can even file me up against the cupboard, if that’s your cup of tea.” Her voice was lascivious and seductive, and if he hadn’t known better he’d have thought she was officially Tempting him. But they’d agreed very early on that bringing their arrangement to the notice of any higher authority was a Bad Idea, so Official Temptations were off the table, and he trusted her to keep it that way. Everyone might have agreed on Sex being an acceptable thing, especially for homesick agents abroad, but most of their kin held an inherent distrust of each other. Aziraphale had never understood that. They could take care of themselves.

Either way, this was just Crowley being herself. Aziraphale had the very unpleasant sensation of having a sip of a drink which was half tea and half wine. He spluttered a little bit, and Crowley preened. Aziraphale ignored it with the experience of several thousand years. Again, they both knew from experience that Crowley wasn’t much into wall sex and the damage to furniture that came along with divine beings using it as props for enthusiastic sex. Aziraphale was almost certainly sure that Crowley had never forgiven him for breaking that Chinese vase that one time. Still, Crowley hadn’t complained much the morning after, so he wasn’t sure.

“Angel,” she growled, her voice unexpectedly deep, threatening in a way that promised a truly wonderful night, “If you don’t help me, I’ll go find someone who will. Or something.” The latter was a genuine threat.(6) Aziraphale still had fond-ish memories of that one night he’d spent watching Crowley do absolutely devastating things to himself with a wickedly shaped, fluorescently purple phallic object which moved in truly disconcerting ways. He’d only had the opportunity to watch, because Crowley had imprisoned him behind an ingenious transparent barrier and he’d been too distracted to find a way around it. It had killed him to see Crowley orgasm until he could no more, his eyes rolling back into his head and knees giving out, his face pressed into a pillow to muffle his exhausted, over-stimulated whimpers. It had been one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen, and one of the most devastating, because he hadn’t been able to feel Crowley writhe, hadn’t been able to feel him clench around him, hadn’t been allowed to drink in his moans from behind the barrier.

He felt his resolve weaken.

“I’m not sure that’s an actual disincentive, my dear.” They both knew it was almost over, the foreplay more a promise than a tease. “Perhaps,” he said, noticing that his forms had not progressed since Crowley started this game, “you’d like to keep yourself occupied.” He looked up at her from under his eyelashes, knowing he had a different kind of power over her. “And I wouldn’t be averse to lending a hand if you got too tired to continue.” It was a different sort of threat, in a language Crowley understood and appreciated. She shivered.

“While that sounds fantastic, tonight I want your mouth, Angel. What if I promise to help you?” Crowley asked, her voice a little hoarse from want, gravelly like she’d just smoked a cigarette, even though Aziraphale knew she hated the things.(7) Still lying on her back on the table, various stationary implements no doubt digging into her back, she toed off her shoes and hitched up her scandalously short skirt. She was naked underneath, bare as the day she’d been created, her knees slightly bent, displaying her clitoris almost tantalisingly. Crowley was stunning in a way only the Heaven-born could achieve.

“You mean, promise and then pretend you’d never in the morning?” Aziraphale asked on a sigh, but he stood up, knowing this was a temptation he was no longer willing to resist. He was only inches away from her, so it took scant seconds to position himself between her legs, so he could spread her dark thighs with his ink smudged palms, past the point of comfort. They were occupying the same space and it was breath-taking. Aziraphale leaned down, pressing his own body against hers, deliberately rubbing the wool of his favourite jumper against her bare skin. She didn’t break eye-contact until he kissed her, and they couldn’t help but close their eyes, because there was something holy and sacred in the room with them, something reverent.

She looked delighted at his presence though, and kissed him back, deeply. She hooked her legs around his waist and pulled him close and didn’t let him back away, arching into the heavy press of his body. “You know me so well, Angel,” she whispered, and fumbled for the edge of his jumper so she could touch skin.

His only response was to kiss her again, deeper this time, and slide one hand between their bodies and rub his fingertips against her clitoris. They were definitely sexless, and it didn’t matter what form they occupied because they would always be more divine than male or female, but they had had a very long time to get human anatomy right. Crowley, in particular, took great pride in how her human forms worked, in how precise they were, and how accurate. He savoured her sharp little intake of breath, her lips parting into the kiss, and her arch up and against him. He could feel the nubs of her nipples through his jumper, and it made him shiver. He curled his hand and pushed it between them, firmly against her vagina, and she ground against his palm, her hips undulating beautifully.

Aziraphale scraped his teeth against her lips before breaking the contact. Crowley whined a little, but let him slide his hands behind her back and angle her up, so he could clear the desk underneath her. Aziraphale didn’t like the thought of her discomfort, even though he knew she’d hardly care. She slid backwards accommodatingly, and laid back down. He let his lips skim past her collar bone and up the swell of her breast to take her nipple in his mouth and _suck_. She sighed and he did it again, leaving her skin damp and swollen. She tangled her fingers into his hair and shamelessly pulled him in, indulging in the sensation. Crowley tasted faintly of salt, even though they didn’t sweat, and of ozone, which made perfect sense. It made him long for something much richer on his tongue.

He pulled back and continued on his trek down, only pausing briefly to dip his tongue into Crowley’s belly button, and to miracle the silly skirt away, leaving her unobstructed. When his face was between her thighs, his lips almost touching her labia, he spoke to prolong the glowing tension.

“My dear,” he said softly, enjoying Crowley shivering in response to his breath against her skin, “you look exquisite,” he whispered before kissing the folds of skin in front of his face, then laving his tongue across her opening, familiar and foreign at the same time, relishing the reflexive squeeze of her thighs. Crowley didn’t often feel like taking the female form. Not unless she wanted something. Aziraphale took his chance every time she did take this form. There was something refreshing about the sweeter taste of her dark skin, and he wasn’t supposed to be selfish but he enjoyed this for its own sake, most times, all thoughts of Nirvana aside. There was more heaven in her ecstasy than there was in his release, and he indulged in it shamelessly.

He stretched his tongue into a sharper point and slipped into her, tasting her slick folds. She was salty and bitter and wetter by the minute, fluids dripping down the crease of her thighs. He kissed and sucked her, pulling her folds between his lips and teeth and riding her bucking and squirming. It was simple, instinctive and joyful, that he could give her pleasure so easily that she could not give herself. He’d have loved to see the look on her face while he did this to her, but he also loved the smell of her sex in his nose, and her slick dripping off his chin. He loved how she couldn’t always control her movement, but how she trusted him to hold her in place. He loved keeping her thighs apart and pushing a broad thumb into her vagina, and feeling her inner muscles clench around him furiously. It was heavenly to slide two thumbs into her and hold her open for his tongue, to delve deeper into her and drag his teeth against her clitoris to make her spasm and twitch. He loved how he could feel her heart thundering and her blood pumping in the delicate flutter of her skin against his mouth, how he could hear her ragged gasping when he flicked his tongue against her clitoris and sucked her into his mouth, how she trembled and shook when he kept her open despite her every instinct to close herself away.

He could feel heaven in her heaving chest, in the way she was curling around him, closing him in and keeping him there. And when Crowley came, her hips moving in small helpless circles, her thighs cramping and her toes curling furiously behind his head, he could hear angelic choirs in her high sweet whine and her breathless panting, and he had to close his eyes to keep hold of the sensation tingling through his extremities. He hadn’t felt the comfort of home in a long time, but Crowley had become his shelter and his home, and this was better. Because in heaven, it was home without the warmth of companionship. Now that he had experienced this, being surrounded by the smell and heat of someone else, being drenched in their shared passion, he knew he could never go back.

He licked Crowley again, delicately, around the two fingers he was pushing deeper into her, curling upwards, and kissed her when it sent her muscles fluttering again, grasping at his fingers even as she pulled away. It took a split second to decide to continue, to push deeper, to slide a third finger into her stretched vagina and to drag a rough thumb across her clit. She bucked like she’d been electrocuted and squeezed his hand so hard he thought he’d bruise. If Angels bruised.

When Crowley finally stopped twitching and managed to open her eyes, she huffed in mock-exasperation and completely failed to hide how blissed out she looked. She pulled Aziraphale upwards into a kiss, tasting herself on his mouth, sucking on his tongue eagerly. He could feel the flicker of a forked tongue against his own and it was his turn to shiver. Crowley liked her tongue, and it went without saying that Aziraphale liked everything about Crowley, but she didn’t often use it, for some reason. Probably not shame, because Crowley wasn’t ashamed of anything and would walk around on the streets naked if she could get away with it. But Crowley could do really weird things with her tongue and there was nothing about it that Aziraphale didn’t love.

He took a deep breath and a moment of concentration, but it was like changing a hairstyle or an outfit; easy and familiar. Aziraphale’s female form was far less objectively attractive than Crowley’s; there wasn’t much she cared to do about the tell-tale signs of wine appreciation on her softer belly, little she could do to disguise the softer heaviness of her breasts and the fact that Crowley had to part her thighs even wider to wrap them around her heavier hips.

Neither of them cared, because it wasn’t the body that mattered. It was the divinity and grace inside which was really attractive. They were both heaven born, and they recognized something of it in each other, they would have even with their eyes closed, even without the warmth of their shared history stretching out behind them. Aziraphale knew Crowley found her as beautiful as Aziraphale found her, regardless of her shape or size. She knew Crowley saw her glowing skin, and her shining eyes and her generous curves, and saw nothing but holy design. They both understood pleasure, and they understood each other, and there was nothing in the world that could be better. Not even a really good glass of wine, or very fresh sushi. Not all the spicy curries in the world could compare.

Her menswear never stood a chance, but Crowley’s quick fingers undid buttons before they popped from the strain. “My turn,” she said, something of a hiss in her voice, sending shivers down Aziraphale’s spine. “On the bed, Angel.”

And with the hands of her beloved fallen angel on her hips, and her lips (and teeth) on Aziraphale’s neck, she went, and it felt like she was flying.

* * *

(1) There were few wonders on Earth better than baths, and Aziraphale had a particular fondness for scented ones, and bubble-baths – it had been a great sacrifice to skip bathing for several decades, to avoid calling suspicion on himself.

(2) There’s nothing better for a mental block than an orgasm or two.

(3) For the same reasons most people didn’t have sex with children or family pets – because there was a massive power disparity and it just kinda sounded icky. Aziraphale, as an Angel, was open minded; his mind was as open as a mind could get, but even he had boundaries. Even _Crowley_ had boundaries.

(4) It was one of the things they didn’t like to talk about.

(5) It was so predictable, Aziraphale could have groaned, if he ever did anything as undignified as groan out loud

(6) It went without saying that the former wasn’t.

(7) Which was odd, because he could have sworn she was the one who’d invented them.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta credit to my darling, [Darjeweling](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Darjeweling/pseuds/Darjeweling). All mistakes remain my own.


End file.
